


A Dragon's Duty

by DemonicSymphony



Series: Guardians of London [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bonding, Dragon Mycroft, Dragon Sherlock, Handler Greg, Healer John, M/M, Magic-Users, Magical Artifacts, Nymphs & Dryads, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is a Dragon Sentry guarding London and the British Empire with his Handler Greg Lestrade... All while trying to put up with his brother and his refusal to find his own handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImmortalVal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalVal/gifts).



> also known as [thatonealeks](http://thatonealeks.tumblr.com/) for the 2014 AU Exchangelock.
> 
> All my love to The Writing Circle.

Mycroft perched on his watch tower near Home Office, scanning the city. Smoke drifted from his nostrils in lazily curling tendrils. To amuse the small gaggle of school children he could see below, Mycroft blew a series of rings over his head, resulting in delighted squeals and gasps. Just to be somewhat obnoxious, he blew a bit of fire just as his Handler came out.

Greg admonished him with a chuckle and waved to the children below. Mycroft stretched his neck out, nuzzling his massive head under Greg’s hands. 

“Alright, alright…” Greg murmured as he scratched behind one horn, settling in to gaze out over the city with Mycroft. He reached for the bond that connected them as the two of them scanned London for any disturbances. The magical network lit up before them and pinged back in answer here and there. Greg dispatched the police where they were needed depending on the crime and level of magic involved… and if it was heavy enough, well, that’s when Mycroft would pick up his rider and off they would go.

Mycroft snorted at a magical disturbance in the vicinity of Baker Street. He nuzzled Greg as he spoke across the bond.

_’Do call my brother and his handler, please. John appears to be off the network and Sherlock is ignoring me.’_

Of course, Sherlock was ignoring him. He always ignored him if something questionable was going on. Suddenly the entire network lit up and several dragons took to the sky around them. Greg had his mobile to his ear, even as he sprang with a practiced leap into the specially made saddle on Mycroft’s back.

“John!” Greg paused as Mycroft leapt off the tower, dipping toward the ground before a powerful thrust of wings had them climbing. “No, the entire grid is lit up. No… Alright. We’ll meet you there… For God’s sake, make him take a cab.”

Greg’s voice was calm in Mycroft's head as he used pressure in his knees to guide him. _’Magical bomb. Sherlock won’t be able to shift for a while. Knocked John off the grid. They’ve fled Baker Street to the safe house… but that was Sherlock’s fault, nothing to do with the grid lighting up. Idiot was testing something.’_

Mycroft soared over the city, answering calls of the other dragon sentries as they swept through, making sure the network was fine. As mages across the city reported back, one thing became clear. Greg had been wrong. The grid lighting up had _everything_ to do with Sherlock. With a huff, Mycroft banked back toward his tower. Greg patted his neck as they glided back down and landed gracefully. 

_Idiot and his bloody experiments. At least we know the grid is in good working order._

Greg looked up at Mycroft with a grin as he slid off his back. “True… Few hours left on shift. Thai tonight? I can call so it’s waiting on us at home. What do you say?”

A low, warm rumble escaped Mycroft and he nuzzled Greg’s chest in answer.

\---

“Gregory?” 

“Mmph!” Greg swallowed the bite of Pad Thai he had in his mouth and called out. “On the sofa. I’m tired. Long day even before our shift. Had a murder of a vampire. Nasty business that one.”

Mycroft moved into the room, hair still slightly damp as he settled in on the sofa next to Greg. “I heard about that. I’m not sure how the cabinet is going to react.” He clicked his tongue as he plucked his carton from the table. “Terribly uncouth, eating like this. You’re a terrible influence on me.”

“Mm, I know. I know. I’m proud of it.” Greg answered as they relaxed.

Comfortable silence fell over the room as BBC One reported on the new testing the magic grid had undergone earlier in the day and Greg elbowed Mycroft lightly as a particularly good shot of them played. Mycroft was caught banking over London, dark crimson scales catching the sun as Greg leaned over his back.

“Oh, nice.” Mycroft murmured as he leaned against Greg. “Sherlock’s lucky they spun this one as nicely as they did.”

Greg snorted. “You mean instead of threatening to lock him up, again?”

A smirk twitched the corner of Mycroft’s mouth up. “I think they rather gave up on that.”

“Are they still threatening to ship us to that conference in Tokyo next month?” Greg asked around a bite of chicken.

“Manners, and yes… I think so. They haven’t relented and negotiations with some of our- ah, partners, haven’t gone as well as we would like. They think meeting in neutral territory will be better. Tokyo has long been one of the more successful neutral territories. Cooler heads prevail and all that.”

Greg made a face. “Sally will complain about the paperwork.”

“Sergeant Donovan does little else about the paperwork, Gregory.” 

Greg hid his grin behind his take-out container. Donovan wasn’t much more fond of Mycroft than she was of Sherlock, but she tolerated Mycroft because he acknowledged how much she helped Greg.

\---

_Are you out of your meeting yet? I’m bored… and I’m out of doughnuts_

**Gregory, being bored and** out of doughnuts **really isn’t appropriate use of bond communication… Though I could have Anthea bring some to work if you’re desperate.**

_Starving. No lunch, worked straight through. Likely be late tonight. Come by before you go home? We’re working that Dryad murder._

**I’ll bring potstickers.**

A box from Greg’s favorite Italian place found its way to his desk approximately twenty minutes later with a vague note about handlers needing to eat. He rolled his eyes but tucked into the lasagna and continued to look through crime scene photographs. His nose wrinkled as he picked up the phone and called Sherlock.

“What do you _mean_ it’s obvious, Sherlock? It’s not bloody well obvious to me. I wouldn’t be- no…” Greg pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You want me to call nurseries in the area and ask- Oh… Thank you.”

Greg hung up the phone and yelled for Donovan. “We’ve got a lead.” 

_Sorry, love. Potstickers will have to wait. Thanks for the lasagna._

He merely got an answering bit of warmth and rumble as he dashed for the lift, tugging along a confused Donovan.

\---

In the end, it had turned out to be an illegal trafficking ring. Children sold while they were still saplings and could be transported in pots, before they could shift to human form. The dryad they’d found was trying to uncover the ring on her own after her younger sister had been sold to cover her parents debts. Greg had never been more exhausted in his life.

When he got home, he showered and crawled straight into bed, pressing himself against Mycroft, grateful for the preternatural warmth he found there. He groaned softly and relaxed.

Mycroft shifted in the bed and wrapped up around Greg, burying his face against his neck. “Handler…”

Greg smiled softly in the dark. “Hello my dragon… Go back to sleep. London is safe.”

A low rumble he felt more than heard answered him and he drifted to sleep, curled safely in Mycroft’s arms.

The next morning dawned bright, London clear for once. Greg stretched, finding himself alone in the bed. He reached out with his mind, receiving an immediate reassurance that Mycroft was safe, downstairs and preparing for work.

**Sleep my Handler. We have a shift this afternoon, covering for Sanderson and Taylor.**

Greg smiled, curling up and burying his face in Mycroft’s pillow before falling back asleep.

When he woke hours later and dragged himself from bed, he moved to the kitchen and found croissants waiting on him. _Sneaky dragon_. He smiled and called into the Yard checking in on things before gearing up to go up to the Tower early.

Tanner Riley and his Dragon Chin Bao were on the tower when Greg climbed up. “Tanner, Bao… Afternoon.” Tanner smiled and Bao dipped her purple head to him. She was a slender dragon, celebrated in London’s Chinatown, despite having been born in London herself. There was a great amount of pride in having an Eastern dragon on London’s elite guard force. Until recent years it had very much been an old boys club… open only to old aristocratic white families. Bao had made history in several ways.

She leapt off the tower to circle the city as Greg watched. He was always impressed by how she moved. Where Mycroft soared and dipped with his massive wings, Bao moved like a ribbon across the sky.

“Oi! Lestrade. S’my wife!” Tanner grinned over to him.

“Arse. She looks like a ribbon…” 

“Oh my God, don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll eat you with ketchup or some shit. Christ.” He laughed as he leaned back in the chair. “How’s his royal highness?”

“Mm, still in negotiations… looks like we’re going to Tokyo.”

Tanner winced. “Better you two than us. Ugh.” Tanner slid the pot of coffee over to Greg and he poured himself a cup as he waited on their shift to start.

\---

The weeks leading up to the summit and negotiations in Tokyo were relatively quiet. Greg solved a few murders with Sherlock’s help and Mycroft helped keep England running smoothly. Life moved on as it always did.

Mycroft met Greg at the door with their bags and kissed his brow. “Just a week. Then you can come back and poke dead bodies with Sherlock to your heart’s content.”

Greg rolled his eyes at Mycroft but scooped his bag up. “Are they going to leave the handlers out of this one like they did the last one?”

“Afraid so. Dragons only.”

A groan left Greg. “Tell me Russia’s not sending Karlov and Sabroc. Sabroc hates me!”

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched up. “Sabroc only hates you because Karlov told him you were correct when you told him he was pinching his wife in the saddle.”

“Well!”

Mycroft chuckled and guided Greg into the car.

\---

Nearly fifteen hours later found Greg and Mycroft checked into their hotel and collapsing on the bed. Negotiations would be long and involved. Greg would be bored out of his mind and confined to the hotel near Mycroft. While Handlers were every bit as important, there was still a stigma in some parts of the world about being the human counterpart. 

All too soon morning found them showering and dressing for the day. Greg had to report to the Handler’s room so they knew he was in the hotel, then he’d be allowed to leave and indulge in the spa or come back to the hotel room if he wanted… but he couldn’t set foot off the property. He silently fumed. 

As they boarded the lift, Mycroft’s hand slid around the back of his neck, squeezing gently. A low, gentle rumble filled the space and Greg relaxed.

_Apologies my Dragon._

Mycroft stroked his thumb over Greg’s pulse.

**Don’t apologize. The way they treat Handlers at these meetings is ridiculous.**

Greg leaned against Mycroft until the lift came to a stop on the convention floor. Mycroft offered his arm and Greg took it, allowing Mycroft to lead. 

When they reached the registration desk, Mycroft pulled their credentials out, speaking to the Dragon seated. Greg exchanged bored looks with the Dragon’s Handler as Mycroft announced them.

“Mycroft Holmes. British Dragon of Her Majesty’s Royal Protection Services and Bonded Handler Gregory Lestrade.”

Greg made a face at the use of his full name and title, but stayed silent as was expected of him.

After the dragon had cleared them, Mycroft escorted Greg down to the Handler’s room.

“Feel like I’m being dropped off at bloody nursery school.” Greg complained as Mycroft paused in the doorway.

A small smile flitted across Mycroft’s face before he kissed Greg’s brow.

“Alright, now you’re just being a prat, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg muttered. “Go on then, save the world, yeah? Let’s not have you lot breathing fire at one another because we couldn’t settle things here.”

“I shall certainly endeavour to.” Mycroft answered before slipping away, falling into step with the passing Romanian Dragon as he dropped his Handler off.

“Hello Anton.” Greg smiled as he spoke and ducked into the room.

“Ah, Lestrade. It is a pleasure to see you here. While I know you hate these gatherings… it is always better for me if you are here. Not so boring. Maybe we can go later for a poker game.”

Greg’s smile turned to a grin. “Especially if that lot natters into the night like last time. We’ll order the most expensive room service and play as long as we want.”

Anton hugged him, clapping him on the back and the two of them settled in on a sofa, allowing one of the attendants to serve them juice and pastries while they caught up with one another.

\---

By the time the evening rolled around there was little either Greg or Anton had heard from their respective Dragons and they decided to order room service and head up to Greg and Mycroft’s suite.

Greg collapsed on the bed as they waited. “I hate these things.”

“Same story, different day. We help center our Dragons but we are not important enough to sit in on the negotiations. Eh, at least we can sit here and eat, yes?”

With a laugh Greg sat back up. “And a feast we shall have, Anton.”

The two talked about the mundane side of Handling as they waited on the food to arrive when the hotel was rocked by an explosion. Greg and Anton wound up in a heap beside the bed, between it and the windows. The window was shattered and Greg shook his head to clear it.

_Mycroft!_

Silence deafened him and he shook Anton. “Anton! Anton! Can you reach Sorin?”

Anton furrowed his brow as Greg watched, recognizing the concentration or searching for the bond. Anton shook his head. “That blast. Can you taste the magic?”

Greg licked his lips. “They’ve deadened everything.” Just then the door flew open and they could hear men shouting instructions to grab the Handlers. Greg peered out the broken window toward the ground as he listened to Mycroft’s enraged roar. With a wicked grin he turned back to Anton.

“Trust me?”

A smirk crossed Anton’s face as he gripped Greg’s hand tightly. “With my life, brother.”

Several bullets hit the shattered glass around them as they launched themselves out the broken window, trusting in the ability of Mycroft to catch them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the bombing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not have done this without Mojoflower or the lovelies over in the Antidiogenes cheering me on.

As he plummeted through the air with Anton, Greg let out two practiced shouts, alerting Mycroft to their positions as they fell. The landing was rough, sending Greg and Anton skidding along Mycroft’s scales. Greg caught a handhold at a massive wing, Anton just to his left. When Mycroft banked hard away from the hotel Greg had to scramble help Anton stay on Mycroft. A rumbling snarl came from their right and Sorin’s dark blue form dove under them, keeping an eye out for attackers. Sorin and Mycroft flew for a park nearby.

When they landed, Sorin and Mycroft quickly shifted down to guarded half-forms, keeping scales, wings and horns. Mycroft still had his claws as he examined Greg. Sorin checked Anton over while murmuring in Romanian. When both were satisfied Greg and Anton were safe aside from some small bruises and abrasions, they stepped back.

“What happened?” Greg asked as they looked back toward the city.

“As you no doubt gathered, a bomb of both physical and magical sorts went off in the hotel. It wasn’t in the convention itself. No dragons were harmed. However, some of us were muted, everyone lost the ability to communicate over bonds. The intent is obviously to lend confusion and scatter us, rather than actually harm.” Mycroft answered.

“No,” Greg breathed out.

“No?” Sorin asked.

“We have to get back... “ Greg snapped as it all fell into place.

Mycroft looked taken aback. “What is it Gregory?”

Greg took a deep breath before explaining. “We were upstairs for dinner and relaxing, as I would imagine most handlers were. I would guarantee most of us were separated by a good bit from you lot. Now our bonds are silenced, can’t reach you. We jumped because people came through the door to kidnap us, Mycroft. When it became clear our intent was to escape, they fired.”

Sorin and Mycroft exchanged a worried look and Sorin spoke. “We have to find out who is missing. If someone is kidnapping Handlers, they’re out to start a full blown war. This could start a world war… Handlers stolen from a peace summit?”

“How much longer do you think we’ll be silenced and others muted?” Anton asked as they stood there.

“At least two hours I would suspect,” Mycroft answered. “That would give them enough time to get the handlers out and in transport or hidden behind sigils.”

Sorin scrubbed a hand over his face. “The question is who… We need to get back, see if we can rescue any of them before this gets any worse.”

Mycroft and Sorin nodded, shifting back and ducking down so Greg and Anton could climb on. With practiced movements they took to the sky. They streaked through the night, silent and avoiding light where they could, not an easy task in Tokyo, though no one had searchlights pointed up yet. The dark red of Mycroft and dark blue of Sorin helped them blend into the night sky. 

Mycroft and Sorin spent close to ten minutes high enough to survey the damage well. When they landed police came rushing up and Greg held up his identification. Anton did the same as they slid to the pavement.

“We have reason to believe handlers are being kidnapped at this very moment!” Greg called out as someone came rushing from the hotel.

The tall, dark skinned man with broad shoulders snarled, eyes flashing golden and reptilian for a moment. “Nephri is gone!”

“People came for us with guns.” Greg spoke up, recognizing the dragon. “We think they intend to separate dragons and handlers… It’s the reason for the mute and silence spells in the bomb. We dove out a window.”

Scales of a deep golden color began sprout across Charles’s body and Greg held out his hands. “Charles, please, we need your help to find her. If you can’t stay calm, we don’t have your help in finding her… this is being done to provoke all of us, you must realize that.”

Mycroft rumbled in approval at Greg and sat regally surveying the crowd gathering. Charles nodded, a sharp bob of his head as he took a few slow, deep breaths.

“We need to seal the block!” Greg called out. “No one leaves. Get the civilians back and I need access to your magical network.”

The nearby cop stared open-mouthed at Greg before Greg snapped. “Move it! Get me a supervisor!”

The ensuing hours were dirty, hard work. Dragons separated from long bonded handlers were angry, lashing out. Greg, Mycroft, Anton, and Sorin were escorted to the local Tower and given access to the grid after several hours of red tape and posturing.

They searched for hours for the missing handlers. Powerful wizards were called in to assist. The hope was that they were still in the city, hidden away. But as time wore on, they started to lose hope. Greg and Anton continued scanning the grid with local aid.

It was nearing noon the next day before the building was declared completely clear. When the final tally was taken, only four handlers from the massive conference remained including Greg and Anton. It was the worst tragedy to befall dragons and handlers since the Black Plague had wiped out two thirds of the handler population in Europe.

Greg was slumped over the table, half asleep in a quiet moment as the dragons discussed their next moves. Mycroft rubbed a hand over his back as Anton stumbled to his feet to find food for the group. The dragons could go longer between food and sleep than they could and sometimes, in high stress situations, had to be reminded of such things. 

As he sat up, Greg grumbled. “Wait, coming with you.”

The two of them made their way down the hall under the watchful eyes of several dragons. They wandered into the kitchen and Greg started rooting around. “Noodles and vegetables alright with you?”

Anton grinned. “Found some eggs and fish, we can have a proper soup.” 

Greg and Anton moved in an easy rhythm, though they teased one another about room service and taking advantage of spa facilities, the truth was they’d been to summits where the dragons hunted food and Handlers cooked it. They’d worked all over the world together and this, this compared to some of it seemed almost easy… if one didn’t count their missing brethren.

“Shriona’s one of the missing… did you know she was here?” Anton asked as they watched the soup simmer a little while later.

“Oh god, surely they have water for her…” Greg murmured. “They wouldn’t take a water nymph and just- surely not… How’s Zavon?”

“They’ve had to sedate Zavon from what I overheard. Sie kept spitting water… I-” Anton shook his head. 

Greg reached out and squeezed Anton’s shoulder. “We’ll find her. We will find Shriona and all of them. They won’t get away with this, Anton. They won’t.”

There was a sharp nod of acknowledgement and the two of them lapsed into silence as the soup cooked, leaning against one another. When it was finished they hauled everything back into the meeting room, ensuring the other two handlers were fed and set about making the dragons eat so everyone kept up their strength… Even if the Dragons could go longer, didn’t always mean that they should. Especially in such a high stress situation.

Soon after everyone had eaten, a new group of dragons came in, a couple of dragons volunteered to stay behind, to walk them through what they knew so far. The four dragons with handlers were ushered out, urged to the safehouse nearby. Two massive dragons stood guard as the pairs retired to get a few hours sleep.

Rest didn’t come easy for anyone, the hours passed fitfully for most, though the rest was appreciated. Anton and Greg met in the kitchen without a word, falling back on what they knew, cooking for the crowd. After everyone was fed, they went back to the Tower war room, as refreshed as they could be.

“We’ve got a lead.” Charles greeted them as they filed back in. “It’s tenuous, but when found Anton’s note about Shriona, we realized that they’d have to have access to water. They won’t risk killing her. This isn’t about killing handlers, or the bomb would have been stronger. Or instead of kidnapping them all, they’d have shot them.”

Greg winced and Charles shot him an apologetic look. Mycroft settled a hand on Greg’s shoulder as he spoke. “Talk to us about this lead then, Charles. Anything is better than nothing.”

Charles nodded. “There are several factories that have recently closed where water nymphs used to work. They’d be perfect for heavy shielding. Our concern is that this is so easy.”

“In other words, it’s a trap.” Sorin spoke up.

“We’re almost certain it has to be. Why else would they make it so relatively easy for us to find them?” Charles answered.

Greg shook his head. “We don’t know for certain they’re there… We have to find that out first. Have we had any sort of ransom demands? Anything yet?”

“Nothing… Nothing at all.” Charles rubbed his hand over his face.

Greg chewed on the inside of his cheek. “What if it’s a setup? What if this is meant to start a war, like we suspect? We send someone to these places, Handlers wind up dead… I- it _stinks_. Something about the whole thing smells rotten.”

“I agree,” Mycroft mused as he stood there. “I think if we go, we run the risk of killing them. We need to find out who and what is there… We need resources. Who do we have here?”

Anton and Greg looked at one another as the dragons began to talk amongst themselves. They exchanged a look that, had anyone been paying attention, screamed trouble. Greg nodded to the door and Anton winked. No one would be looking for handlers to be headed straight into trouble like that. They’d expect the four remaining handlers to be under lock and key.

Whoever _they_ were did not know Gregory Lestrade or Anton Ardelean very well at all.

\---

In reality, it was far easier to slip away from Mycroft and Sorin, busy as they were and then sneak past the dragons guarding the Tower than it probably should have been. Then again, Greg and Anton weren’t expected to be quite so reckless and the sentries outside the Tower were watching for people trying to get in, not out. They sneaked past and found a cab to take them down near the factories. It was a matter of minutes for them to stroll down to the closest one, hiding in the shadows and keeping an ear out for activity. 

The first two factories they came across were empty, not even security to chase them away. When they came upon the third one they had to scramble in silence back against the wall. A large dragon passed close by in human form. His dark hair and sharp blue eyes scanned the shadows for a moment, as though sensing them. A deep voice called out. “Kel! Boss is on the line.” ‘Kel’ moved away from the shadows, back toward the entrance to the factory.

Greg and Anton slipped around the back of the factory, dodging a dryad guard just as he took root to become an innocuous tree. They exchanged looks and ducked a piece of fence before sliding along the wall to peer in a window. In front of them were friends and fellow handlers. Greg shook his head as he watched a vampire prowl the perimeter. 

“Christ.” He whispered to Anton. “What the fuck are we meant to do?”

“Report back before they figure out where the hell we are and storm the place, my friend.” Anton answered. 

Across the city Mycroft looked up from his studies of the factory district. “Sorin, have you seen Anton or Gregory?”

With a small groan and huff of smoke, Sorin shook his head. “I have not… how long?”

Mycroft swore. “I will wring his neck.”

At that moment Greg and Anton looked at one another, the feeling of heat and anger flashing across the bonds, weakened though it was from their proximity to the shields. They nodded and crept away from the factory as fast as they could. Kel stalked past and they flattened themselves against an outlying building as he spoke on a headset.

“Seb, wings up in five. We’ll ride out and look for them. They’re around here somewhere. I can smell them. You sure Boss won’t care?” He stopped, putting his nose to the air as he listened. “Well, I don’t want him attacking me over you riding, you hear? Bring your rifle.” The dragon moved on after a moment, still arguing with ‘Seb’. 

When he was clear, Anton and Greg bolted, tearing up the road as fast as they could, knowing they had to be gone in the next five minutes. When they were two minutes out, the bonds cleared and Greg reached Mycroft first.

_Handlers located, definitely a trap, have new intel, no Handlers appear to be harmed at this time. Need ride within two minutes or we’re fried. Dragon in the air._

**When you return, we are going to have a conversation about this.** Mycroft’s anger reverberated through the bond and Greg could see Anton wince as well. 

Ninety seconds later a police car pulled up beside them, its vampire driver growling at them to get in. When they were settled she sped away as fast as was safely possible. Greg and Anton spent the ride in silence, hands clasped. As predicted, both dragons were waiting, anger bubbling under the surface.

“In the war room, now.” Mycroft stated, voice so calm it sent shivers down Greg’s spine.

As the two of them relayed everything they’d seen, work started on finding the people responsible with what little they had to go on. When they were finished, Greg and Anton were led out to a small lounge area and seated while Mycroft and Sorin stood in front of them.

Mycroft and Sorin stared at their handlers. Both bonds shifted, unease rippling through them. 

“You left and-” Sorin swore as he shook his head. “Why, Anton? What were you thinking?”

“That we could get close! And we did…” Greg spoke up. A low, warning growl from Mycroft made Greg glare and point his finger. “Oi, no, you don’t get to pull that with me. You lot go hurtling into danger all the time and we-”

“We have scales and teeth and claws!” Mycroft thundered, making Greg snap his mouth shut and stare at Mycroft.

For the first time Greg felt how terrified Mycroft had been and he ducked his head. “I know-” Greg took a breath. “I know, Mycroft but we couldn’t _not_ take the chance. We had a chance to do some good and we took it.” Greg looked back up to him. “You can be angry, you have every _right_ to be angry… but I won’t be sorry about helping.”

Anton’s voice was quiet, but strong. “Nor will I…”

Both Sorin and Mycroft seemed to deflate, wisps of smoke curling up from both of them. Greg could almost see Mycroft’s tail swishing in agitation despite him being human at the moment. 

Sorin moved first, enveloping Anton in his arms and nuzzling his temple. “I thought I would lose you. I could not bear it, Anton.” 

“I am safe, Dragon. I am safe and we have found the others. We know more than we did.” Anton murmured.

Mycroft watched them for a moment before beckoning Greg to him. “Let us go see if any progress has been made from your information.” He kissed Greg’s head as he wrapped him in his arms. 

After a few minutes, the four returned to the war room, prepared to get back to work and find out all they could on who had the handlers. Fifteen minutes into the research, the phone rang in the war room. A nod from the tech in the room and the speaker was turned on, a soft Irish accented voice rang out.

“Oh, darlings, please, please, no need to rush about on my account. Everyone is safe as houses. I promise. I do, however… require a few things. Tell me, is Mycroft Holmes present? I’m terribly disappointed I didn’t manage to snatch his little pet, Lestrade. Especially since he was just here snooping about. Tsk, tsk, Mycroft, you really should have better control of your Handler… what will the others say?”

The room froze, looking between Mycroft and the phone. 

Mycroft’s lips drew to a thin line for a moment before he spoke. “James Moriarty, it has been some time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not have a beta for this fic. I own all my mistakes. If you see anything, drop me a line and I'll fix it!


	3. Chapter 3

A soft chuckle came through the speaker on the phone. “Oh, darling. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me. You did seem to forget me so easily... How is little brother? Still as brilliant? Or has he gone back to drugs?”

Mycroft twitched, a few scales appearing just under his collar. He rubbed at them as he kept his tone bored. “Tell me what it is you want, James.”

Moriarty tutted on the other end of the phone. “I want what’s rightfully mine, darling… Same as I ever did. I want my place on the council reinstated and I want baby brother working for me again.”

The room was silent as dragons bristled, both steam and smoke curling into the air. 

“You were taken off the council with good reason, James. You killed your bonded handler.” Mycroft replied in an even tone.

There was a deafening crash from the other end of the phone. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT AND YOU ALL KNOW IT,” Moriarty shrieked.

Greg stared, open-mouthed, exchanging a look with Anton. 

Before Mycroft could reply, Moriarty continued, “I have a new bonded… I am ready to take my rightful place back.”

Mycroft steepled his fingers. “You’ve kidnapped high ranking handlers… why should we give you a place on the council?”

A low, dark laugh came over the line, throaty in the way of a dragon in half-form. Moriarty’s voice was deeper, rougher. “Because if you don’t… I’ll kill them all.”

The room erupted in chaos and only Greg caught Moriarty’s, “See you later,” as he hung up the phone.

It took nearly an hour to calm the dragons, now calling for blood over their kidnapped handlers. Anton and Greg were put through the wringer, both putting hands on Dragons who needed handler guidance. When it was over, neither was on his feet. They were shuffled to the safehouse and bundled into bed together. Mycroft and Sorin took up in the adjoining room to discuss strategy.

“We know where they are… Should we try a full frontal assault?” Sorin asked as he sipped a cup of strong tea.

Mycroft shook his head. “No… Moriarty considers himself- he’ll want that, want the chaos. Sneaking has a better chance. I should call Sherlock.”

Sorin paused and seemed to choose his words carefully. “The handler- the one Moriarty killed.”

The tension in Mycroft’s body would have been readable by anyone, even without the smoke curling from his nostrils. “Was Sherrinford. Yes. He was a year older than I.”

“Was it an accident?” Sorin’s question was gentle.

Mycroft let out a soft, rumbling growl. “James was careless. The two of them often got into a great deal of trouble together… But James was- _is_ one of the strongest dragons in Ireland. They were well suited to the risk taking missions. But James became convinced he was near invincible. He did not take into account the fragility of his handler. It resulted in Sherrinford’s death, on what should have been a simple mission.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down.

“James went into mourning. He was too unstable for the council at the time… it’s standard, you know as well as I do.” Mycroft took a deep breath. “When he came back, it was obvious he wasn’t able to come back to the job. We encouraged him to look for handlers, to take more time, to seek counsel from the elders.”

With a sigh Mycroft scrubbed his hand over his face. “He disappeared on us. We allowed it because we thought he needed time to heal.” He waved the hand. “We were wrong.”

Sorin sat in silence when Mycroft was finished. After a moment he poured them both whisky. “Drink. We will find them all and we will… Moriarty will be brought to justice.”

Mycroft nodded as he sipped at his whisky and pulled out his mobile. After a deep breath, he called Sherlock.

\---

Greg woke to a body curled against his and he blinked. A smile came over his face as he realized it was Anton balled up against him. They’d shared a bed on several missions and Greg found comfort in the familiarity. 

Anton stirred and mumbled, “Is it breakfast time yet? I could eat an entire horse and three pots of coffee.”

A chuckle escaped Greg. “I’m sure there is something.”

Alerted by their bonds, Mycroft and Sorin appeared in the doorway bearing trays of food. Greg arched a brow.

“They really do spoil us at times.” Anton murmured.

“Eat,” Mycroft urged. “We have much to do today.”

They didn’t have to be asked twice as they struggled to sit and tuck into the trays, still leaning against one another. As they ate, Mycroft relayed what he knew of the intelligence on Moriarty. 

Greg brushed their bond.

_Have you talked to Sherlock?_

**He is aware.**

_How is he taking it?_

**He wants Moriarty’s head on a pike. But he has since we lost Sherrinford.**

A frown settled on Greg’s face. “We’re going to have to find a way in…”

Sorin nodded. “Yes. We think we’ve figured it out.” 

Greg and Anton listened intently as Sorin outlined their plan of attack.

\---

Just as dusk fell over the city, a team approached the warehouse where the handlers were being held. Greg and Anton went first, sneaking through much the same way they’d done the first time. When they arrived at the window, they sneaked inside, keeping silent as they dropped down. 

Outside, they heard the start of the diversion and the guards left. Greg and Sorin went to work. The conditions were not so horrible… a lengthier stay would have resulted in much worse. As it stood people were hungry and tired. A few bumps and scrapes here and there. Someone had a broken arm, but everyone was mobile. 

They could hear the sounds of a full fledged battle outside. Greg and Anton led the group of handlers out the side entrance and to a waiting bus. Soon the lot was headed out and Greg sent up a flare. Moments later the building was lit on fire from both ends, dragons assaulting it full force. As the wards went down, bonds sprang back to life and Sorin dove for Greg and Anton, barely stopping as the two sprang onto his back with practiced leaps.

Sorin took to the air again, letting the handlers lean into the ride. As he climbed, Greg spotted Mycroft battling with a large green and brown dragon. With a start, he realized it must be Kel. The rider on his back was unsettled, wrong.

_Mycroft, he has Moriarty’s handler with him!_

Mycroft peeled away, earning a heavy rake of talons on his haunch. He let out a pained roar, but climbed higher, out of reach.

**Are you certain?**

_He rides well enough, but he’s unsettled, there’s no bond there. That has to be the Kel we told you about. It looks like him._

**Did you see this Kel shift?**

_Just trust me, Dragon!_

There was nothing else from Mycroft as he dove straight for Kel. He snatched Sebastian off of Kel’s back before Kel had time to react.

Kel roared and took off after Mycroft. Greg watched as two dragons forced Kel from the sky where a wizard waited. He winced as Kel was forced to shift with magic and a collar was locked around his neck. 

With the loss of Kel and Sebastian, the fighting ceased, the parts of Moriarty’s crew who could, escaped. The others were rounded up and soon the area was lit up with the flashing lights of the police force and a few ambulances.

Greg didn’t know how long it took before he was trudging up the stairs in the safehouse. Anton was somewhere with Sorin and Mycroft was locked in a room with Sebastian, questioning him. He crawled into the shower, trying to scrub the way the day made him feel off.

He sighed when he felt Mycroft brush his mind reassuringly. Greg sent a gentle reassurance that he was safe through the bond and closed his eyes. He finished his shower, dried off, and crawled in bed naked. _Too much effort to bother with clothing_ , he thought to himself before sleep dragged him under.

At some point in the wee hours of the morning, Greg stirred as the bed dipped and a low, gentle rumble sounded. He opened his eyes to see Mycroft in his half-form slipping into bed with him. Greg teared up with relief as he allowed himself to be tucked into Mycroft’s arms and wings. The low, continuous rumble from Mycroft soon had him drifting back to sleep, his mind curled up in the safe haven of the bond.

Greg and Mycroft slept for hours twined together. Whenever Mycroft shifted too far, Greg grasped at him in his sleep. Greg had been down for the better part of fourteen hours, and Mycroft eight when a knock on the door roused them.

Mycroft snarled as he stalked from the bed, wings flared out, protecting the bed from view. He threw open the door to find Sorin and Anton. The change in attitude was immediate and Greg smiled. 

Reaching out, Greg snagged the dressing gown left for him and pulled it on. “Morning boys,” he murmured as he stretched.

Anton smiled. “Good morning. We come bearing coffee and pastries. Would you like some?”

Greg’s face lit up. “Ah, Anton, you always know the way to my heart.”

The possessive snarl from Mycroft startled him. As Greg looked up, he tilted his head and smiled, “Dragon, you know that I am yours.”

Mycroft actually looked sheepish as he stood there. “Apologies, Handler… I find I am feeling protective and possessive after the events of last night.”

Well used to the antics of dragons, Anton settled the bag of pastries and the coffees on the table. “Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s handler is being transferred to England. The four of us have been chosen to go with him.”

Greg muttered as he settled in at the table. “That sounds absolutely wonderful. What of the dragon? Kel…”

“We’re trying to get more information on him… but he’s going too. We’ll have a wizard with us and he’s collared. It’s obvious he and Sebastian are close. Very close. There may be a broken bond there. We’re not sure.” Sorin answered as they all sat there.

Mycroft hummed to himself, “I doubt there was a broken bond, I can’t see even James putting someone through what he went through. Especially not someone he was going to bond with.” He tapped his chin. “It may be that Sebastian and this Kel were brought up together though. We’ll search school records for this Kel when we get back.”

Sorin nodded in agreement and the four settled in over the coffee and pastries, discussing the ride home until someone came to get them. Greg dressed in a hurry and Mycroft shifted fully human again save for a patch of scales at his neck in the shape of the Dragon Guard. 

Greg sighed when he was given the ceremonial collar for the escort. Once, handlers had been considered slaves to their dragons. Cherished, but without choice. Things still weren’t perfect, but damn it, Greg wished they’d find a better bloody indication of their status.

**Calm, handler… no one thinks of you as a slave.**

The group was escorted to where Sebastian and Kel were being held.

Sebastian towered over both Anton and Greg. Cold blue eyes stared out at them, a scar running from his forehead to the corner of his lip, barely missing his eye. His dark blond hair was cropped short and he held himself with military bearing.

_I’d check Her Majesty’s service records before you check school records._

The answering flood of warmth and pride at the observation was enough for Greg. 

Kel was as tall as Sebastian and snarling at Mycroft and the wizard. His black hair fell over green eyes when he lunged for Mycroft. Sorin and the wizard wrestled him to the ground, the wizard sending a bolt of magic through the collar.

Sebastian tried to get to Kel when Kel screamed at the jolt. He was near feral as he tried to get to Kel, screaming, “Kellan! _Kellan_!” 

Mycroft snarled at Sebastian. “Quiet. Neither of you are to be harmed if you will only cooperate. We are transferring you to England. This can be as difficult, or as easy as you would like.”

Kellan looked up at Sebastian from his place on the floor. “Seb-” he rasped. “Don’t fight them. For me, don’t fight?”

Sebastian scowled, turning his glare to Mycroft. “Jim will kill you for this. He already hates you, Holmes.”

Mycroft tilted his chin up and smiled, cold and cruel. “I assure you, after he killed my brother, the feeling is mutual.”

With a gentle hand, Greg pressed Mycroft back a bit. “Easy, Mycroft.” He could feel the waves of anger and sorrow from Mycroft as the group was escorted out to a van. 

The ride to the airport was, thankfully, uneventful. Though Greg and Anton traded looks when they got there.

“Three angry dragons, a pissed off handler, and a wizard. We’re in for a hell of a flight.” Greg murmured to Anton when they were piling onto the plane.

Anton snorted. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Greg shook his head at Anton. He watched as the prisoners were settled and strapped in before Mycroft beckoned him forward. When Mycroft pressed him into a seat, Greg looked up. 

Mycroft nuzzled along Greg’s neck, marking him with a scent only the dragons in the plane could smell.

He rumbled. “When we get home, I’ll drive all thoughts of this trip from your mind. I promise this, my bonded.”

A smile broke over Greg’s face. “Don’t fret, Mycroft. I am safe, we are going home. There is no need for such worry.”

A small huff escaped Mycroft as he sat beside Greg. “I bonded a very wise man.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, if you spot huge mistakes, let me know!


End file.
